A Change Will Do You Good
by Ladyfun
Summary: For the Quiddich Fanfiction Competition, Week 7. Books can be powerful instruments of change; but not all change is for the better. This follows the travels of a book as it is passed down, and the destruction it leaves in its wake.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: A Change Will Do You Good.**

**Author: Ladyfun**

**Pairing:** None. Maybe Tom Riddle and His Quill.

**Rating**: Generally T

**Disclaimers:** All of this (Ladyfun gesturing big wide circles over the computer with her hand) belongs to J.K. Rowling. I own nothing, and this is all for non-profit fun.

**SUMMARY**: For the QLFC. Books can be powerful instruments of change; but not all change is for the better. This follows the travels of a book as it is passed down, and the destruction it leaves in its wake.

**A/N: **Written for Round 7 /Season 2 of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. Position is Beater 2 for the Wigtown Wanderers. Prompt: Riddle's Diary. Optional prompts used: (quote) "It is better to be hated for what you are than to be loved for what you are not." ― André Gide, _Autumn Leaves; _(word) freedom; (colour) magenta.

**Round 7- Time for the Horcrux Hunt!**

Title/Link: **A Change Will Do You Good**

Team: **Wigtown Wanderers **

Position: **BEATER 2/ Riddle's Diary**

"Merlin's Beard! What the bloody hell is this tripe?" Spat out Ginny Potter. "Harry, Hermione..._come have a look at this_!"

The 2/3 of the Golden Trio came into the kitchen, where Ginny was absolutely seething as she read over the day's edition of The Daily Prophet. Her face was sheet white, but her eyes were clearly red with fury.

"What is it, dear?" Harry asked, gently.

"What **it is**, dear husband, is my horse's arse! Today's article, about the Anniversary of the Chamber of Secrets...who is this clown, this "Official Historian?" This is B.U.L.L.S.H.I.T.! _How dare he_...!" The redhead was on one of her typical angry rants.

Hermione cringed, despite her lofty position in the Ministry, knowing exactly to whom Ginny was referring. Quite frankly, the man gave her the creeps, as well. How he managed to constantly publish in the_ leading newspape_r of the wizarding world was beyond her.

Sighing, she said, "I feel certain I know who you're referring to, Gin."

"Read it!" She said, angrily, as she thrust the paper into Hermione's hands. "Who goes by the name 'Romeo,' anyway?"

Hermione offered, "Well, outside of William Shakespeare, and a few muggle Lotharios, I don't know, Gin? In my limited interactions with the man, I can truly say he's a pompous ass. You can't be upset, okay?"

But no sooner had she said that, she began to read. And so the brightest witch of her era quickly grew as disturbed as Ginny, wonder where the hell the editor was in_ all of this_ tripe. She would have to throw her weight around, something she rarely did, and perform an "official ministry review" of the whole guest columnist situation on the part of the Prophet, and their murky relationship with Mr. Romeo, with his illustrious "D.D.T." writing degree, and their serious lack of editing and oversight.

The Golden Girl sighed as she continued reading the article...

* * *

**The Twentieth Anniversary of the Opening of the Chamber Of Secrets: The Dark Lord's Diary, Revealed!**  
_By Romeo Milvalor, D.D.T. ; Special Editor to the Daily Prophet  
_

* * *

_SCOTLAND. As the official Historian of the Ministry of Magic, I feel it my duty to correct the myths surrounding the urban legend of the Diary of Thomas Marvelo Riddle and how it came into being. As we approach the twenty year anniversary of the opening of the Chamber of Secrets at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the borderline obsession with this journal, nee diary, becomes almost disgusting from my perspective. Thus, I felt it necessary to tell the story – and not the legend._

_Firstly, the book itself was not all that remarkable, actually. It was a curious little magenta bound journal; very unassuming at first glance. However, if one looked closer, the magenta leather bound cover was smudged with what appeared to be dirt, grime, and just the aging process, in general._

_However, that assumption would be incorrect._

_The smudges were not the oily film of one's fingers, as they handle a beloved read over and over; no, the smudges were far more nefarious._

_Although there were indeed dirty smudges from unclean hands handling the tomb, the majority of the smudges were something else, altogether._

_They were smudges of dried blood, caked into the leather-bound cover._

_The first smudge of blood was that of the witch now referred to as "Moaning Myrtle," an unfortunate Ravenclaw who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. She had the dubious honor of being the first person Tom M. Riddle murdered, while a student, in order to infuse a fragment of his soul into his diary, thus seeking the freedom of becoming "immortal."_

_All it did, in the final analysis, was smudge a perfectly lovely journal._

_While the facts of the now famous diary have been written about, ad nauseum, in the wake of the second Wizarding War, the trite facts remain that: trite. Certainlly no one is interested in hearing yet again how the famousdiary gained notoriety when The Dark Lord, Lord Voldemort, transformed it into his very first Horcrux; these details have been told over and over again, especially as it relates to the Golden Trio destroying it with the basilik fang and the Chosen One's wife, Mrs. Ginerva Potter, and her unfortunate run in with this little journal._

_However, the origins of the diary as a horcrux were almost humble. The creation took place in 1943, during Mr. Riddle's fifth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and it was the first horcrux he ever made._

_It is also well described the events in which Lord Voldemort entrusted the diary to the famous but greatly flawed Death Eater, Mr. Lucius Malfoy, who kept the diary, in secret. It is well documented that he was the one who placed it into the bag or cauldron of school items belonging to Mrs. Potter, then Ginny Weasley, at a deliberate run-in at the now closed Flourish and Blotts in 1992. __The diary used its magical influence to possess and force Ginny to re-open the Chamber of Secrets, but it was destroyed by Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ronald Weasley (brother of the possessed woman) in 1993 with a basilisk's fang._

_What has not been detailed, however, is what happened with that journal between the years of 1943 and 1993, however._

_It has been researched that Tom Riddle took many a life in order to __solidify the Horcrux binding; he would place a drop of his victims' blood on the cover, and smudge it into the leather with his left thumb. Over time, the blood oxidized, and gave the journal the current black hue that was associated with the journal. Ironically, the last drop of blood was none other than the mother of the "boy who lived," and their is certainly a grand circle of life in that he would bear the distinction of formally ending the book from historical existence. _

_While __history has been kind to "The Boy Who Lived," it remains a historical tragedy that the journal was destroyed, as it could have provided keen insight to dozens of witches and wizards who met their end at the hand of the Dark Lord. Death often renders truth; and this journal likely contained the honest testimony of that truth. For example, this author finds it curious that the current Head Auror, Mrs. Ginerva Potter, while accomplished has often been criticized in her post as headstrong and foolhardy; however her results cause her high-powered friends in the Ministry to look the other way. However, the journal revealed she was headstrong, and too trusting in her own opinion to regard facts right before her eyes. Are these truly the qualities we seek in the highest law enforcement agent of our land?_

_On the Eve of the opening of the Chamber of Secrets by the then impressionable Ms. Weasley, perhaps the journal also revealed the truth of the Golden Trio, as well. It is widely accepted that Mr. Ronald Weasley, famed for his numerous failed wizard radio talk show efforts, simply stabbed away, boldly attempting to destroy the journal without any concern for repercussions or safety. Mr. Potter completed the mission of destroying it, with one part dumb luck, and one part parasitizing off the well researched knowledge of his lifeline, Ms. Granger. Finally, the famous female Minister, the Golden Girl herself, only she held the reverence that a book of this magnitude should hold. Only she was nervous. The wizarding world could do much worse than she as their leader. _

_This author, however, suspects that even the journal could ferret out the secrets of perfection such as the ones the seemingly penultimate Minister Granger-Weasley secretly conceals. By all accounts, she is a superlative mother, competent witch, Recipient of the highest scores on the Wizarding N.E.W.T. exams in history, war hero, and of course, the ultimate **devoted** wife. This readership must be left to wonder if there is anything she does not do well? The journal, if it still existed, might suggest an answer to such questions by offering the "friendship" she has with a certain French Veela creature, a relationship that could even be construed as related to her by way of marriage, for example, may not be as quite as platonic as she would have one believe. While I exhibit a certain love of determined provincialism, I must admit, even my poorly traveled mind finds it hard to believe that people demonstrate that degree of "affection" towards their sisters, even in France._

_It's just a reflection on the nature of secrets and lies, dear readers. The same reflections many of us will do privately and publicly, on the Anniversary of the opening of the infamous "Chamber of Secrets". Reflect well, dear reader...What are your secrets?_

**_XOXOXOXOXOOXOX_**

Hermione put down the paper, her hands shaking, for obvious reasons.

Harry, who had been reading over her shoulder, put his hand gently on hers. He spoke, quietly. "What's say we keep this amongst the three of us, for a bit, shall we? No need to bother Ron with this bollocks, especially since he just got laid off yesterday."

Hermione felt her throat constricting. The only escape she had in her life, the one bit of personal freedom and happiness, was ripped away from her by this bastard! The brightest witch of her age was positive they had been so careful...how had they been discovered?

"...Because, 'Mione, anyone can see you're in love." He said gently.

She gave him an evil glare. "Really, Harry? Legillimancy? That's dirty pool!"

He shrugged. "Maybe you should work a little harder at your occulmancy, dear."

Ginny was momentarily amused and distracted watching her husband and her dear friend go at it, teasing each other. But Ginny's thoughts quickly drew dark again. She gave voice to the obvious. "Wait a minute...how the bloody hell does this..this "Romeo" asshole... know so much about us?"

Harry and Hermione stopped fussing, suddenly agreeing with Ginny. They gave each other a determined look, and quickly put on their traveling coats with a seemingly unspoken agreement..

"Where are you two dunderheads going?"

Harry gave her a quick peck. "To the Ministry, dear! Hold down the fort, okay?"

She sighed, resigned.

**XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX**

There was no sign of Mr. Romeo Milvalor, Esquire, anywhere on the premises. Or anywhere else, for that matter.

After acquiring a quick permission from the Minister (Hermione felt momentarily guilty for giving herself permission to go breaking-and-entering into someone's personal residence) the two longtime friends_ broke into_ Romeo's modest home.

They were too late. He was long gone.

Curious, however, was a small wrapped package on his desk, addressed to "Minister Granger." After Harry did extensive diagnostic spells on the item, he finally relented and allowed her to open the item. Hermione gasped, when she had a sudden realization.

"Harry..." She said, her voice trailing off.

"Yes?" He said, looking at the journal with a frown. He refused to take his eyes off of it.

"Harry...tell me you've connected the dots, as I have." Hermione's voice sounded terse.

"_Sorry?_ I don't follow..."

She sighed, muttering _"Of course you don't..._" and gingerly opened the front cover, gasping again when she read the inscription on the innocuous inside cover clearly written just for _her._

_My Dear Ms. Granger;  
__Madame Minister, if you are reading this, congratulations! I had no doubt you would figure it out. The one thing about the past few months, that I appreciated, was getting a look at your brilliant mind up close and personal. For you, my dear witch, I can see past the imperfections of your birth as you have risen above, much as I had. I see now why my two brilliant seconds were so infatuated with you...one, who wanted to bite you; the second, well, I suppose she wished to bite you as well. Know this: there is nothing as attractive as a brilliant mind. Those men who cannot see that about you are actually revealing their shortcomings, not yours. Know that when the time comes, I will be coming back for you. You will be with me. I will even be willing to look beyond that blond eye candy of yours. While I don't approve, as she distracts you, I do have a heart. When you grow frustrated with the status quo, and your members of the "light" who are more invested in keeping things exactly as they were, more so than any of my followers I dare say, that is the moment you will ask yourself "Who Is John Galt?" and you will come with me.  
Heart. Mind. Soul. Body.  
__Until then my beautiful one - I remain...  
Y__ours Sincerely,  
__-Mr. Romeo Milvalor, D.D.T.  
__P.S. You may write to me whenever you wish. This journal is charmed for your eyes only. Even your intellect cannot alter that, as much as I admire it._

**_XOXOXOXOXOX_**

Harry watched her examine the blank page of the journal, almost as though she were reading something. He watched as she grew increasingly agitated. Hermione, jaw set and barely looking up from the journal, issued an order.

"Harry! Stat! Go to the Ministry, and bring back the cursebreaker team! Now! Make sure that Fleur, Pansy, Neville, and Apollene are all present, especially."

He asked no questions, just sprinted towards the floo. "Are you sure you want to do this alone? Who is this guy?" She looked at him incredulously, and went back to studying the little bound book.

As he was being pulled away, he heard her say, "Think about it! Three O's..Two D's...Two M's...think hard, Harry!"

It wasn't until he got all the way there, that he put it together and nearly fainted on the floor of the Ministry. He quickly pulled himself together, and to his credit, rounded up the entire section in record time and marshaled them back to Milvalor's apartment.

_Romeo Milvalor, D.D.T...Tom Marvelo Riddle...Lord Voldemort..._

The team barreled through the floo, only to find an oddly calm Minister awaiting them, almost serene.

"Hello, team. I'm impressed with your mobilization." She gave them a small grin. "I'm sorry to say...false alarm."

Fleur and Pansy looked especially concerned, each glancing at Harry, alarmed. Fleur was struggling with the need to be publicly reserved, when all she wanted to do was to grab Hermione in her arms and make sure she was okay. It was, oddly enough, Pansy who broke the silence.

"Granger, what the _bloody hell_? Have you gone nutters?"

The Minister merely chuckled, glad she was in a room with people "who knew her when," and not a bunch of the mindless worshipping zealots who followed her around given the Trio's status and Hermione's rising star. This would be much more complex with the latter...

"No, Parkinson, but I suggest you ask me that question again in roughly a year from now." A few chuckles escaped from her staff. She stood up, crossing the room to them, and worked the crowd effortlessly. Hermione Granger Weasley was unquestionably a politician. When everyone had left, with the sole exception of the Boy Who Lived, Hermione sat down, exhausted, into Milvalor's chair, once again.

"What happened, Hermione? I mean, one minute, you were acting like it was the second coming of You-Know-Who, and now you're acting like it was just a fire drill that you staged, all along!"

She looked at him with steely eyes. "Well, actually, Harry...it would technically be the _third_ coming of the Dark Lord, not the second." She closed her eyes, rubbing the bridge of her nose, a habit she did when especially fatigued. Without looking up, she said, "I was actually reminded of one of my favorite quotes, attributed to André Gide. It states, " "It is better to be hated for what you are than to be loved for what you are not." And then things just kind of started to make sense. At some point, I will have to realize even I can't beat the people who want to keep things _exactly_ the way they are."

"I don't follow..."

"I know, Harry, I know." She looked gently at him. With a smile, she added, "Hey...fancy getting a bite to eat, old friend?"

He smiled, offering his elbow to his best friend, nodding enthusiastically. He had missed lunch and his stomach was growling. As they prepared to floo back to downtown London, he completely missed the corner of the magenta pink journal that was stuffed into her jean pocket, prior to their departure.

**FIN.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author**: Ladyfun

**Title: Tommelise Granger**

**Pairing**: Hermione and a cast of characters. Endgame: Fleurmione!

**Rating:** Generally K+

**Disclaimers:** All of this (Ladyfun gesturing big wide circles over the computer with her hand) belongs to J.K. Rowling. I own nothing, and this is all for non-profit fun. And I sure as heck don't own Quiddich, nor Hans Christen Anderson. And I'm sorry but WTF? Thumbelina? Obscure, party of one, your table is ready. Over by the year 503 AD.

**SUMMARY:** For the Quiddich League Fanfiction competition/Round 12, yee haw. Hermione navigates a myriad of potential suitors and obsticles before she can overcome herself, her world, and her perceived limitations, in order to get to "her one." Endgame: Fleurmione. Based on the fairy tale, Thumbelina.

**A/N #1:** Written for Round 12 /Season 2 of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition.

**A/N #2**: OPTIONAL PROMPTS: 1. (word) underhanded 2. (word) Bleeding

**Random technicality: I can't post new fanfics, it would appear, so I am posting it in another spot in one of the old stories. Sorry if there's confusion.**

* * *

**Title: Tommelise Granger  
**Round 12 / Fairytale Dabbling  
Position: Beater 2- Prompt: Thumbelina  
Team: Wigtown Wanderers

* * *

"What's this?" Tommelise uttered, a mysterious large package arriving wrapped in the finest golden paper arriving to her stoop by owl. "Who sent this?" she asked the owl, but it was too late. He had already departed. She regarded it closely. It was a rather ornate bouquet of white lilies, with a French coat of arms embossed in the ribbon. The card inside was embroidered, and out fell a parchment. The parchment, written with elegant looping script, read a most curious note:

_Mon Avenir Princesse,_  
_Do not Despair, Mon tresor! The time is coming when we can be together; know that my heart swells, each day we are apart, for you; I am bleeding, sanguine….until that fateful day we can be reunited. Please wait for me._  
_XO_  
_Your Flower._

Tommelise thought no more about it, after a few days, as is the way of most 14-going-on-15 year olds are want to do; only adults really overanalyze, and would have thought it strange.

As it was, she had bigger things on her mind than a strange admirer. She had to prepare for another year-her fourth-at that wonderful school, filled with some really nasty individuals. It was bad enough that that insane pureblood fanatic's ideas were starting to gain favor again, it was worse still that some of the old prejudices were showing their heads and trickling down to the children of these fanatics.

No creature was safe, really, and certainly not the tiniest of fairies, such as herself.

Drastic times call for drastic measures. She decided to stop using the first name, Tommelise, of her fairy ancestors. She decided instead to use the name of her muggle grandmother, Hermione, when the school year resumed. She swallowed, hard, wondering if that would make it better, or worse. She had owled her mentor, Professor McGonagall, who soundly agreed with her decision, a little too enthusiastically. Hermione realized that it would not sit well with the pureblood families that the number one student in Hogwarts was a creature; somehow, being discriminated against as a mudblood was slightly better.

A least mudbloods were classified as_ humans_…for now.

Suddenly, the idyllic summer was over, and it was with a certain amount of dread that Hermione, nee Tomnliese, set off for her 4th school year, new books and crisp parchment in hand. Her father was stoic, as becoming a dentist, but her mother was the one with fairy blood and couldn't hide her emotions as well. Her mother kissed her goodbye with a sad look on her face, and Hermione tried to shake it off.

"What, Mom?"

"Nothing, Tommelise. It's just that…you shouldn't be ashamed of who you are."

"I'm _not_ ashamed, Mother." Hermione said, frustrated.

"Someday you will be grateful for your fairy lineage, Tommelise, I promise."

"I'm proud now, Mom! There's a difference between being _safe_ and being _proud_. Pride is a luxury we can afford in less vulnerable times, mother."

The fairy shook her head. "No, Tommelise, in unsafe times, pride may be the_ only_ thing we have."

Wrestling with her guilt, she huffed, and headed off to platform 9 ¾ , hoping to make the train with the lead balloon that had settled into her heart. That, plus the feeling of foreboding approaching the school year left her in quite a melancholy mood, indeed.

**XOXOXO**

At the platform, she was met by Harry and the Weasleys, as per their standard operating procedure in their many years together.

She felt a sharp pinch in her side.

**"Ow!** Merlin's Beard, Molly…did you just pinch me?"

"I did." She hissed. "Listen, Hermione, these are uncertain times..." her eyes darted back and forth, between the platform and the various eyes on them. "I've lived through wars, Hermione! One thing I know is this: people don't always come back the same."

"No, I suppose they don't, Molly."

"For these reasons, I think that its necessary to... how shall we phrase this? _Lock in a few details_, as it were." Molly's eyes were looking a tad wild, when Hermione scrutinized them closely. Her behavior was odd, indeed. She shuffled around, foot to foot.

Hermione looked at her, concerned. "Well, um...what sort of details?"

"Grandbabies, Hermione, of course! Grandbabies!"

Hermione felt a tightening in the pit of her stomach. "Grandbabies...I see. And what does that have to do with me, exactly, Molly?"

Molly Weasley looked conspiratorial. "Well, if we wait for little Toadie to do this, we'll be waiting a long time, now won't we?" She was, of course, referring to her youngest son, Ronald Weasley, affectionately known as "Toad" to his family.

Hermione sighed. "Molly, we've been through this! I adore Ron, I really do..." Hermione said, firmly. "...But, I adore him as a brother and nothing more."

"Hermione, you're not getting any younger!"

"Molly," the Hogwarts student began, incredulously. _"I'm not even of age_, yet!"

They stood there, locked in heated exchange, when someone recognized her distress and decided to save her. Her dearest Friend in the whole school, perhaps the whole world, recognized her discomfort, and swooped in like a bird to rescue her.

"Hermione! Come now! We're going to be last and not get any good seats! Hurry up!" He smiled an apologetic grin to Molly. "Sorry, Mrs. Weasley, we have to go!"

God Love Harry Potter, sometimes….

XOXOXOXOXO

The train ride had been uneventful, the Golden Trio filling each other in on all their summer fun. Toadie Weasley seemed annoyed that some secret admirer had sent Hermione flowers; to which she promptly ignored. They filled up on chocolate frogs and speculated what the Triwizarding Tournament would bring to their year. Both Harry and Ron grumbled for a solid ten minutes about the loss of the Quiddich field; and Hermione filled them in on the detailed reading she had done about the history of the two competing schools, Beauxbatons Acadmey of Magic and The Drumstrung Institute.

"Many dark wizards have graduated from Drumstrung," Hermione mused. "I expect some seriously underhanded behavior from them."

Once they arrived to their school, it was wonderful to be within the Gryffindor fold once again; however, she would be lying if she said she missed her schoolmates from Slytheryn one little bitty bit. Worst among them was the dreadful Pansy Parkinson; that girl just seemed to have it out for her, constantly!

Everywhere she turned, Pansy would somehow just...be there, already. She would loudly make commentary about whatever Hermione was wearing, her teeth, her face, her hair...there was nothing that escaped her commentary, it seemed. Hermione would simply ignore the rude girl and walk past, but it got to her friends. Six days into the school year, Ginny Weasley finally snapped.

"Hey!" Ginny yelled at the malevolent Slytherin girl, leaned up against the post with her two lackeys. "Tweedle Beetle Parkinson! You spend so much friggin' time noticing every single detail about Hermione...why is that?"

"Because she's an offense to witches everywhere, charity case! What's it to you?"

But Ginny was the epitome of a Gryffindor, and despite Hermione's blush next to her and admonishment to hush, Ginny bowed up to the older Slytherin. "Oh really? That's why you've memorized her schedule, Parkinson? Why you stare at her in the Great Hall? Be a little more obvious, why don't 'cha, Tweedle Beetle?"

The dark haired witch clenched her jaw. "What are you _implying_?"

"I'm not implying anything!" Ginny laughed. "I'm stating the obvious, Parkinson! You have a crush on Hermione Granger! Any idiot can see it...daft."

Hermione put a warning hand on Ginny's arm, as to indicate to Ginny she was out of line. She nervously looked up at Pansy, who had the oddest angry look she had ever seen on one face. The bobbed Slytherin finally managed to string together a cataleptic sentence.

"_Wha_-what? You've gone nutters, Weasley! Like I would _ever_ have a crush on a girl...much less an ugly, buck toothed, know-it-all, crazy haired mudblood like Granger!" She huffed. "Get real!"

Hermione felt the stinging of tears come to her eyes as Harry gently pulled away both Ginny and Hermione. "C'mon, let's go. We're going to be late for Charms." He urged.

Once out of earshot of the laughing Slytherins, Harry said gently, "You know all that horseshit was just that, right, Hermione? Horseshit!"

"It still hurts, Harry." Hermione said, quietly.

"Well, I think that there was clearly someone this summer who didn't think that you were ugly, right? Your rose bush -"

"_Flower_." Corrected Hermione.

"Flower. Right. Well, _Prince Flower..._or whomever, thinks you are something special, no matter what piggish Parkinson has to say."

"You're right." She said, smiling to herself. "You're right, Harry."

"I know! So, enough of the woah is me, defeatist attitude. Let's go to class, now, shall we?"

**XOXOXOXOXO**

The introduction of the schools was quite a sight.

The Dumstrung participants were everything a champions would be pictured as…virle, strong, and fearless. This was embodied best by the handsome Champion selected, Mr. Viktor Krum. Oddly enough, despite the fact the school did not admit muggleborn students, the Champion himself seemed to have taken quite a liking to the Hogwarts muggle known as Hermione Granger.

Mr. Igor Karkaroff, best known by his code name "the Field Mouse," from his days as a death eater—which he had since renounced, was curiously in favor of this paring.

"Zat girl," The former Field Mouse replied, "studies like nobodies busy-ness!" He proclaimed to all who would listen. "Eizer she is having an affair wiz ze librarian, or she iz truly ze smartest witch of 'er generazion." He surmised.

On one such occasion, Minerva replied dryly, "I would suggest the latter, Mr. Karkaroff." She said, without an ounce of mirth in her voice. "She is our star pupil."

Karkaroff was not shy about his hope that he could set the two up, and her studious habits would rub off on his Champion. You see, Krum was a valiant sort, a good guy, really; but he tended to go balls-to-the-wall "all out" without regards to the danger around him. While this tactic was great for Quiddich, it was not so great for the Triwizard tournament. This tourney, unlike Quiddich, often rewarded mental prowess as much as the gifts of the physique for the physical demands of the game.

It was actually Karkaroff who introduced the two, on a mandatory study hall on a Saturday. Hermione was polite enough, and his Champion appeared smitten. Unbeknownst to Hermione, the whole thing was a set up. Mr Quiddich wanted to squire Hermione to the Yule Ball, and he had coerced his headmaster, the Field Mouse, to arrange some type of an introduction.

He was used to women throwing themselves at him; he rarely had to engage in the pursuit, himself. He was at a loss for what to do.

**XOXOXOXOX**

It was the afternoon of the second task, and the four treasures had been recovered, albeit a tad waterlogged. Ron, Cho, Gabrielle, and Hermione were all towering off in the tent area, comparing notes and talking furiously.

From the corner of her eye, she noted the arrival of the three in green and silver. Malfoy, Parkinson, and Zabenini.  
"Great." She muttered, to herself.

She didn't have to worry long, before Ron dumped a cup of icy pumpkin juice, ice cubes and all, over Pansy's head for their unwelcome intrusion.

"Look, your kind isn't wanted, around here!"

"Awfully uppity, Weasley, for someone as poor as a churchmouse!" Draco sneered.

Ron was pointing at Pansy. "Ye Gods, you've just come to upset Hermione, and that's frankly, just bollocks! Why don't you git?" Ron muttered.

Pansy pushed him in the shoulder. "Why don't YOU git?" She said, warningly.

"_You_ git!" He pushed back. "She doesn't want you, Parkinson!"

Another retaliatory shove. "She doesn't want you either, Toadie Weasel!" Pansy shouted.

And the shoving match continued, each a bit harder than the one prior; Hermione blushed, and tried to duck out of the tent, unnoticed. It was there she crashed into her. Literally, crashed into her.

"_Ooof_!" Hermione exhaled, slightly pained in her left side. "I'm sorry, I didn't see where I was goin-" She stopped in mid sentence. The fourth year student had crashed, headfirst, into the Beauxbaton's champion, in her haste to escape the bickering inside the tent.

"Bonjour! Going somevere, belle?" The French goddess said, clearly amused.

"_Hoping_ to, yes."

"And zat place is…?" She arched one eyebrow.

"Someplace without... arguing lunatics!" She groused, after a moment to collect her thoughts. She then looked up, suddenly embarrassed. "Not that you're a lunatic, I mean."

But a rather understanding look adorned the face of the gorgeous French Veela. With an amused smirk, she added, "And are you ze cause of all zat bluster inside, mademoiselle?"

Hermione just groaned. "Well, Yes…no? I don't know?" Hermione grinned, sheepishly. She furrowed her brow as she confided in Fleur, "Frankly, I think they like to aruge just to hear themselves speak, sometimes!" She huffed.

"Zere iz a famous saying in my home country, zat "He who establishes his argument by noise and command shows that his reason is weak." Yet, I find myself intrigued, and wanting to know more, belle! I should like to meet ze object of adoration of such... passion, zen! " Said the woman in blue.

Hermione blushed, oddly intrigued by this clearly intelligent young lady.

"If I may, je m'appelle Fleur Delacour, from Beauxbaton Acadmey."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "As if everyone didn't already know who you are, Ms. Delacour!"

"Fleur, please."

"Okay…_Fleur._"

"Okay...'ermione." She said, rolling her tongue around, deliciously, savoring her name. As she did, Fleur cocked her eyebrow, playfully. "Does zis mean I will have to start dueling ze otzzers, now, to get your favor?"

Hermione groaned.

It was at that exact moment that one of Fleur's friends yelled for her, poking her head into the tent. "Fleur, maintenant! Madame Maxime est sur le pied de guerre ! Allons, si vous savez ce qui est bon pour vous!"

Fleur couldn't seem to pull her eyes away from the younger witch. "Well," she sighed. "I guess this is where I take my leave, Mademoiselle Granger."

"Yes…" Hermione's voice trailed off, relishing the way in which Fleur enunciated her name. It was so lyrical. "It was lovely to meet you Fleur!"

Fleur landed a dainty kiss on the side of Hermione's cheek. "Au revoir, beautiful lady." Fleur exhaled, and then she was gone. Hermione was at a loss as to why the air suddenly felt so dry and vacant.

**XOXOXOXOXO**

Toadie Weasley actually waited until the literal day before the Yule Ball to ask Hermione to be his date. Even Harry had to blush, ashamed, for his friend. "Give it up mate." He whispered.

"Why? It's not like Hermione has a date yet!" He reasoned.

"How do you know?" Ginny said, annoyed with her brother.

"Because!" Ron reasoned, as he shoveled another heaping spoon of mashed potatoes into his mouth just as fast as his arm could hoist it, "It's not like these arrogant assholes 'round here are lining up to squire a defective fairy who also happens to be a muggle born witch, as well!"

Harry and Ginny looked at each other incredulously.

Hermione looked up from her voluminous text she had snuck into the Great Hall. "Erm, folks...I am sitting, right here, you know."

"Yeah, but you're reading, 'Mione." Ron said. "Its not like you look or listen to the world around ya, when you're reading."

"I wonder why? After all, this is such a pleasant conversation, and all; disparaging my heritage."

Ron had the courtesy to look at least slightly embarrassed. "C'mon, you know I'm not sayin g that! I'm merely saying what those around us are thinking."

"Oh." Hermione said, curtly. "I see. Well then, I will leave you to continue tot cull the opinion of army a blod souls of this town." She gathered her things, and started to exit the breakfast table.

"So, 'Mione? How bout it?" Ron asked.

Hermione gave him a look as though he was the three headed dog, incarnate. "Ronald Weasley! That's unacceptable asking a lady a day before the social event! And secondly, for your information, I do actually have a date!"

"Really?" He said, sounding somewhat skeptical. "Who is it, then?"

"Viktor Crum." She said with a slight smile, heading out the hall and towards the library.

**XOXOXOXOXOXOX**

Viktor was indeed her date that evening, and she was absolutely resplendent. She drew the appreciative eye of even the most discerning guest, but it was the smoldering blue eyes of the Champion from France that caught her attention, most of the night.

Strangely, Fleur seemed to keep her distance, and it hurt Hermione's feelings, inexplicably. She caught Fleur, once, at the punch bowl; but the French Veela took great pains to scurry away.

"Wait, Fleur!" Begged Hermione.

And Fleur turned, with great effort, and gazed at Hermione with the most pained expression she had ever seen. Fleur exhaled, whispering, "Non, 'ermione. Not yet. You're too young, and I 'ave too little control...I'm sorry. Je suis desolee, ma belle."

And then she was gone into the crowd and the dimmed lights, absent from Hermione's sight the remainder of the evening. Hermione didn't have much time to reflect on the odd separation, as Viktor was literally on her, non stop.

Hermione had no real formal objection; after all, he was handsome, fearless, very kind to her, and clearly smitten. She allowed herself to be swept up into the whole moniker of "going steady," and there were certainly benefits to having a long distance boyfriend who was very, very busy. If she were to be honest with herself, however, she found herself on some nights wondering what it would feel like to have smooth, elegantly sculpted lips that would form a slight pout descend upon hers, instead of the rough ones of the Slavic young man who was her boyfriend.

But she would push those thoughts away, and try to be a good partner to Viktor, regardless of how little her heart really was interested in that objective.

**XOXXOXOXOXOXOX**

It was on her fateful trip to Shell Cottage, where the Golden Trio sought safe harbor, that she would once again be reunited with her ...what? Her mentor? No, Hermione sighed,_ not_ her mentor. Her childhood crush.

Fleur Delacour, soon to be Weasley, it was rumored.

The former Triwizard Champion had become even more beautiful, if that was at all possible. Molly had complained, often, about how stand-offish the blonde was at their family affairs. It was easy to judge someone so effortlessly gorgeous, Hermione guessed. Plus, the nature of her Veela heritage made it impossible for males to look away, and females to despise and be jealous in kind, as well.

Yet the muggle-born Fairy was neither; perhaps it was because she had been tortured within an inch of her life, and it took all her strength to simply recover, without the luxury of objectifying the world around her.

But Fleur tirelessly nursed her back to health, without a single complaint.

She refused to leave the English witch's side, and worked around the clock to heal the broken body and spirit. Miracleously, she did just that. And if she were telling the truth, Hermione would have acknowledged she fibbed a little, just to have a few more stolen hours of time with Fleur. Time that just the two of them would talk about anything and everything.

Hermione even confessed to Fleur her ancestry, and the jibes that she was a "defective fairy."

"Why on Eartz would you zay somezing so 'orrid, Belle?" Fleur reprimanded. "Calling yourself defective..."

"Because it's true, Fleur, that's why!" Hermione said, passionately. "I'm no kind of fairy...I've never even sprouted wings, much lest flown! Flight is the staple of my people, Fleur!"

Fleur tutted. "Ze time has not been right for you yet, my pretty one." She said, cupping Hermione's face, gently. "It will come...I'm sure of it."

Leaning into her touch, she suddenly felt better.

**XOXOXOXOXOX**

All good things must end, Hermione thought to herself, miserably.

It was time to resume their hunt for the horcruxes, and they had a job to do. Oddly, however, she felt a draw to the older witch, the lady of the home. Her throat seemed paralyzed when she saw the simple white flower she had in her hand. As she walked over to Hermione, she rolled the stem between her fingers, a sad smile adorning her face.

As she weaved the flower into Hermione's hair, she whispered, "it was rumored that the first Veela brought down this flower down from the sky, and placed it into King Clovis' helmet, before war."

Hermione's throat tightened.

"And so ze legend of ze Fleur-de-lis was born! Ze white lily is said to confer protection, and..." she paused.

"And what, Fleur?"

Fleur cleared her throat. "Protection...and love."

Hermione wrapped her arms around the neck of the woman who had saved her, in so many ways. As she looked adoringly into Fleur's eyes, she murmured, "Well then, I guess that describes you perfectly, my Flower of the Court."

Fleur's eyes were a mess, and Hermione watched them darken.

"I've seen these flowers, before..." Hermione realized.

"Oui? Have you? Zey come from our family estate. Zes are rumored to be ze very same patch from which King Clovis cultivated the single flower he was given, until it became acres and acres of lilies!" Fleur laughed.

Looking down at the serious girl in her arms, Fleur immediately stopped laughing. It was only a matter of time before their eyes darkened again. Fleur leaned down, and allowed her lips to graze those of the younger woman's. Electricity shot through both of them; Hermione involuntary shuddered. Then Fleur's lips were there, just so right there...never had anything felt like it made her feel in that very moment.

And after their kiss, she felt a ripping sensation on her back, as the bud of the base of her winds began to form, through her skin.

"What the-?"

"And zere you 'ave it, folks." Grinned Fleur, while touching her forehead to that of the younger witch. "A real live Fae transformation!"

Hermione didn't speculate about it, on wonder what her "fiancé" was doing; she would have to remedy the "Viktor Krum situation" soon. One couldn't really marry someone, when they were in love with someone else. She didn't care about anything other than the sixty seven inches of gorgeous blond woman before her, dazzling her mind and soul.

Tomnliese Granger reflected, briefly. She had her wings, her one true love, and the prospect of the future after the defeat of the Dark Lord. And really what did it matter...anything else? She realized, at the end of the day, regardless of what the future held...here was her happy ending.

Hermione's Happily Ever After.

**THE END**


End file.
